


waiting

by keptein



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Nonbinary Character, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-08 00:26:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16418933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keptein/pseuds/keptein
Summary: He is waiting for Akaashi. Akaashi didn't ask him to wait for them, they may not even really want him to, but the thorns of the rose bouquet dig into his fingers in a way that must be love, the aching wonderfulness of love, and he has to tell Akaashi. The streetlight catches on the dew drops on the petals and then it's gone, catching and disappearing and catching and disappearing, unreliable.





	waiting

**Author's Note:**

> thank you keral for everything. i'm on twitter @lemonbrute and tumblr @tivruskis.

It is dark and he is waiting outside, not because he has to, but because he wants to; he wants to wait, even though the streetlight above him is broken and keeps flickering and in the split second of complete darkness, Koutarou can see ghouls and unfriendly creatures. He has always had an imagination, his mother's favourite memory of him as a child is how, when they went to the beach, he would make up stories for everyone they saw, but she wouldn't have approved of this, what he's doing right now, so thinking of her is pointless.

He is waiting for Akaashi. Akaashi didn't ask him to wait for them, they may not even really want him to, but the thorns of the rose bouquet dig into his fingers in a way that must be love, the aching wonderfulness of love, and he has to tell Akaashi. The streetlight catches on the dew drops on the petals and then it's gone, catching and disappearing and catching and disappearing, unreliable. Maybe Akaashi thinks of him the same way, that he's catching and disappearing, but that's why he's here, waiting for them with a bouquet of flowers he saw in a shop window (they were so beautiful it hurt, in the sunken bit of his chest that cries at all things beautiful).

Akaashi. In the end, it all comes down to Akaashi. Waiting, wanting to wait, the shadows cast by the streetlight, the roses - they all spell out Akaashi in their own way. Koutarou knows he obsesses. He thinks and thinks and thinks until his head hurts and he's lost himself in a sea of swirling thought, and he has spent so long fighting the urge to obsess over Akaashi, their approval, their consideration, their touch, their everything, but he still wants, wants to think and think and think about them, and maybe Akaashi wants him to too. Maybe that was what they meant when they said _we should go out_ , and Koutarou smiled confused and said _we're already out_ and they said _I want you to not be able to stop thinking about me_ except that's not what they said, that's what Koutarou was thinking, _I want you to not be able to stop thinking about me_. They said _I want to date_ and Koutarou said - Koutarou said - Koutarou said -

_No._

Obsessing, obsessing, obsessing. Maybe he has been obsessing all along, obsessing over not obsessing over Akaashi, which still amounts to obsessing over Akaashi. The thorns prick against the flesh of his palms, softer these days. The roses are meant as something beautiful, something lovely, but they might hurt Akaashi, and Koutarou knows he should have cut them. But he never thinks, really, he thinks and thinks and thinks but he never _thinks_ , he never plans, he never makes himself useful. He doesn't know how.

The roses might hurt Akaashi, even though they're meant to be something lovely, and Koutarou wants the two of them to be something lovely, but it might hurt Akaashi too. That was why he said, he said, he said - no, that's why he said  _no_ , but it hurt Akaashi anyway, they looked down and they swallowed and they said  _I see_ and Koutarou knew that they weren't seeing the same things.

Unreliable. Obsessive. Akaashi's night classes are long, very long, but he counts the moments in flickers of the light, and it makes the time pass. He is anchored to the ground and it is relieving. Even if this makes Akaashi sad, even if this is a mistake, he is doing it now, the thorns dig into his hands and it cannot be undone, and if it's not a mistake-

He doesn't let himself think of what it might be like if it's not a mistake.

People come out of the building now, small flocks of them, groups of ten and twenty and they're all dark-haired and the peculiar height of tall-but-shorter-than-Koutarou, and his heart is pounding so fast in his chest he worries he might throw up just to get it out, but he has to stay, he wants to stay here, at least until they see him -

And then they see him, just as he sees them. Akaashi in their uniform, surrounded by people Koutarou doesn't know, and the streetlight flickers for a beat, and Koutarou wonders if, when it comes back on, he'll see Akaashi's face sullen and angry, furious at him for this gesture, refusing to ever speak to him again, which would be a fate worse than holding thorny roses for the rest of his life, but then the light  _does_ come back on, and it is outshone by the force of Akaashi's smile, walking quickly towards him until they break out into a run, and Koutarou opens his arms, and they come close enough to touch, and he hugs them, and they hug him, and he breathes for the first time since he arrived, ragged and unsteady.

They hug for a long, long moment. Things slow down. His head is always kinder when Akaashi is there. Even the streetlight, unreliably flickering, fades into the periphery, nothing as important as the warmth of Akaashi in his arms, their shoulder under his face.

"Why are you here," Akaashi asks, and they sound happy and bewildered, and Koutarou doesn't let go of them.

"I brought you roses," he says, muffled. "They still have thorns on them."

"It's okay, I have gloves," Akaashi says, then they laugh, disbelieving, and Koutarou laughs too, tremulous and scared. He forgets, sometimes, that Akaashi knows how to protect themself.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm really sorry."

"I forgive you," Akaashi says, even though they never forgive easily, Sarukui spilled milk on them in their first year and they wouldn't speak to him for half a year. Koutarou tells them as much, anxiously, and they shake their head, finally managing to turn his face enough that they can look at each other, and they're still smiling, so soft and warm. "I mean it. Thank you for the flowers."

"Can I walk you home?" Koutarou asks, feeling so very, very small, because he needs to protect himself from the overwhelming happiness that's building in that very sunken place in his chest. 

"Yes," Akaashi says, and they do let him, and they even let him hold their hand on the way home, and their fingers soothe the pinpricks of roses on his palm, and slowly but surely, the happiness spreads to every corner of Koutarou's body, up his spine and down his feet and finally into his head, and he smiles at Akaashi so much his cheeks hurt.


End file.
